


More Than They Thought

by Sugarfire (SephMichiRook)



Series: Simply Complicated [3]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: AKA life happening, Canon Compliant, Episode remix s12e13, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort and Humor, Implied Nightmares/PTSD, Male-Female Friendship, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Platonic Cuddling, RvB Rare Pair Week, canon typical smoking, not canon typical drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-04-24 20:47:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4934758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SephMichiRook/pseuds/Sugarfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lazy slacker.  The scary bitch.   It's easy to label people, but as Grif and Carolina find out, there's usually more to people than they let on.  Canon compliant, set mostly in season 13. Canon divergent after season 13</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ooops (prologue)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fifth story in the series, but the only one with progressing chapters.
> 
> I'd like to apologize in advance to both those that have read this before, and those new to it. This is an open-ended exploration of Dex's and Cary's friendship, and scenes and chapters are writing themselves out of order. As such, the updates may be new chapters in the middle of old, and chapters after the new one will probably have edits to fix continuity errors.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Grif wanted from Carolina was his rifle. All Carolina wanted was for him to get off her. Ooops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place during season 12, episode 13, while Wash is giving Caboose Freckles, and immediately thereafter.  I'm just doing a little set-up.

Dexter Grif couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

There they were, huddled around Carolina’s makeshift workbench. The Reds and Grey were a solid arm’s length away, true, but they were all staring at the laser rifle. His laser rifle. And Carolina had tools, and yeah, she actually planned on taking it apart. And they were going to let her.

Fuck that shit.

“Hey!” he said, as he stalked up to the workbench and grabbed for the gun. “You’re not taking it apart!”

“Grif, what are you- Hey!” Carolina exclaimed, turning to face him as she tried to slide it behind her on the bench. Not deterred, the big man made a grab around her, pinning her back against the edge, and one arm between them. “Get off me!”

“What the hell, Gr-- Oomf!” Simmons said, trying to pull him off her, and receiving an elbow in the gut for his trouble. Sarge and Lopez jumped in as well, grabbing at the orange soldier. Both men ended up on the ground, Grif pushing Sarge off his feet, and Lopez slipping while tugging on him. Somewhere in the background, he could hear Tucker laughing his ass off. The entire time, he continued to try to reach around her, not backing up an inch.

“Get. Off. Me!” Carolina commanded, trying to catch her breath as he pushed her harder into the table, driving the edge right into her kidneys. Moving her arm was impossible; he weighed more than she expected. In fact, he was down right solid. She tried moving the fingers on the hand caught between them, and found that she could. Not enough to hurt, but he seemed to be ignoring pain, so maybe she would get lucky and find a ticklish spot, get him to move enough to get the advantage.

Grif wiggled slightly and his breath caught as the fingers began moving on his thigh, like she was trying to tickle him. It wasn’t a ticklish spot, it was so much worse. So, so, much worse. His boner went from zero to hard almost instantly, pushing his codpiece out painfully. He made another aggressive try for the rifle, trying to get it before she noticed just what she’d done.

The move backfired spectacularly when it gave her room to twist and drop her hip between his legs for leverage. He felt her go suddenly still, and her breath hissed out. He took advantage to grab the rifle and get out of reach of the now furious Freelancer. Realizing the others had regained their feet, he raised the gun, making sure he could see them all. "All of you, get back!" he ordered.

“Give me back the rifle, or I will take it,” Carolina said, her voice getting very low. She took a step toward him.

“BACK OFF LADY, OR I WILL PUT YOU IN THE GROUND!” Grif shouted.

“Grif… Put down the gun,” Carolina growled.

“No way. You were about to take it apart!”

“What did you think ‘dismantle’ meant?”

"I know what it means. I didn’t think you were actually going to do it!” Grif said.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Wash and Caboose appear. Fuck. “Grif, for the last time, put the laser-” Carolina ducked as Grif’s nerves got the better of him, and he fired.

“Uh, okay, that was an accident,” he said, lowering the weapon.

“I am going to break your fingers now,” she said. Grif made a very scared noise and took a few more steps back, bringing the weapon back up. He didn't take his eyes off her, though.

Grey interrupted, talking about alien weaponry. Talk of taking the laser apart was replaced with jabs at Grif intelligence when he brought up the connection between the gun and the teleportation cubes. Carolina absorbed it all, but a little part of her was impressed Grif had been the one to make the connection. And she had to admit, it took balls to stand up to her for as long as he had. Maybe there was more to the ‘lardass’ than she thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before going to the next chapter, you may want to look at this. 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/4941226/chapters/11342011


	2. Working it out

Dexter Grif didn’t need this shit. 

The raid on the comm tower had gone far better than expected. Felix and Locus had been exposed. All of them were alive, even if Wash and Tucker were still out of action for the moment. And the people of Chorus were actually talking to each other, if you could call what they we doing ‘talking.’

He had never heard more insults thrown at two people’s faces, and that’s saying something with the company he kept. And while it wasn’t like anyone thought the Feds and New Republic were going to be best friends right away, Kimball and this Doyle character seemed ready to set aside the cease fire at a moment’s notice. 

Carolina had tried to play mediator. It had made total sense to Grif and the others. She was the one that uncovered the Mercs, and didn’t have any strong ties to either side. 

Apparently, one of the very few things Kimball and Doyle could agree to was that anyone that wasn’t somehow attached to either force wasn’t to be trusted. Or listened to, or even acknowledged. Less than an hour with them, and Carolina had stormed out of the conference room, leaving the Reds to try to calm things down.

That was eight hours ago. Grif was exhausted, frustrated, and just done with the day. And since Tucker wasn’t going to be allowed to participate in fixing this mess, he was going to get stuck doing it again tomorrow. 

The only good news he had gotten was when he had checked on the Blues. Nobody was going to die. And Tucker was already awake, so that was good. All these losers were going to be fine.

But no one had seen Carolina since she had stormed out. She hadn’t even visited Tucker and Church or Wash. Grif was going to be pissed if she had decided to go lone wolf again, especially as hard as he and Sarge had been fighting to get the generals to at least listen to her. Grif flopped down on his cot, his thoughts cut short as he passed out almost immediately.

That night saw the return of the nightmares of dead company members and glass-covered landscapes. Except this time, they wore familiar brightly colored armor, and the glass was flowing down cavern walls, trapping them all in. He woke with an obnoxiously loud snort, followed instantly by hitting the floor ass first. It took a few moments of gripping the cot he had been sleeping in, his breaths coming loud and hard as his throat opened up, to realize that he wasn’t the only living being in the barracks, let alone the planet. That the aliens on this planet were long gone, leaving the world thriving. Counted backwards from five in his head, even as the grumbles about him being too loud registered. He pulled himself up, and cursed the fact that the fan in his helmet had seemed to go out again, and stumbled out into the night air.

His steps became more sure as he got farther into the cavern that housed the main New Republic base. Nights like this, he needed to burn off the adrenaline, the need to run that his dreams left lingering in his body. Needed to move until he couldn’t stand anymore. Hopefully, the training room was empty. It usually was, but he wasn’t the only person here that occasionally needed a midnight burn session. The machines here weren’t meant to be used with armor on, which is why so very few people actually used it. The people of Chorus were even more used to being in armor twenty-four seven than their group was, to the point where they felt psychotically vulnerable without it. So anyone using it had to be really shaken up.

The lights were, in fact, on when he got there, even though there was an ‘out of order’ sign on the door. The sounds of soft grunts and the clank of weights came from inside as the door slid open. “Shit,” he mumbled to himself, turning to go walk the perimeter, when he heard a familiar voice.

“Goddamnit,” she said, voice strained in a way he hadn’t heard before. There was a loud clank, the weights slamming to rest, and then a rattling a second later, a body hitting a weight rack. Grif cursed, and turned back around to check on their wayward Freelancer. 

“So this is where you’ve been hiding out,” he stated nonchalantly as he walked in, sipping from a half-filled water bottle he spotted on the floor by the door. Carolina was hunched slightly, shoulder against the machine, facing the door. She was still in her undersuit, boots and gauntlets, and her body seemed to sag back from his voice. Sweat was running down her face, her hair dark and plastered to her forehead and neck. Her expression was one of pain and exhaustion.

The glare she was giving him from below her bangs was pure anger, pride, and defiance. The adrenaline kicked back up, and Grif actually stepped back, flight right back in control. Almost. That thing that made him defy Sarge time and again reacted to the ‘get the fuck out’ in her eyes, goading him far enough into the room for the doors to slide back into place. “Honestly, I thought you were back out in the jungle. It’d be easier than trying to deal with this mess.” 

He leaned up against a resistance machine he knew from experience could handle his fully armored weight. Her amazing eyes tracked him, her head turned, but otherwise she didn’t move. He held out the water bottle. Her eyes darted from his helmet to the bottle and back again, several times, wariness joining the other three emotions. After several seconds, he let out an exaggerated sigh, and slightly pulled his hand back. She snatched it, the movement throwing her off-balance even with the support. Her face was all surprise now as she stumbled, a soft noise escaping as she grabbed the machine she was leaning on. Grif remained where he was as she slowly gathered herself. “You going to call someone?” she asked after she took a drink.

“Now why,“ Grif asked, as he felt the his knees beginning to give, “would I do that?“ He let himself slide down so he was sitting with his knees bent, his hands at his side, looking up at her as the slight shaking began as the adrenaline began wearing down. Carolina nodded, and slowly lowered herself down so she was sitting on the floor across from him, her knees also up, her forearms resting on them so her hands dangled in front of her face. Her chin almost rested on her chest, lifted just enough to keep him in sight. Grif let his head fall back, unable to do anything until the aftereffects of the panic attack he had hoped to work off left.

Grif didn’t know how long they stayed that way, or if he had nodded off. He looked at her a couple of times. The second time, her head had fully dropped down to chest, and her breathing had evened out. He knew damn well how sore her neck was going to be, but there was no way he was going to wake her up. He shifted slowly, first onto his knee, then starting to stand.

“How are they?” Carolina asked softly, her head never raising. Grif groaned as he sunk back onto the floor.

“Doyle and Kimball? They’re in shock, and being stubborn,” he said. “Kimball is trying to get him to open up a part of Armonia for her people for the time being, but he pointed out they were able to do fine from the bases they had and-” 

“I meant,” she cut him off, raising her eyes, “Tucker and Wash.”

“Oh,” Grif said. “Tucker’s awake, and getting restless. Giving the medics hell keeping him in bed.” 

“Good,” Carolina said, a small smile playing over her lips before fading. “And Wash?” 

“Still out,” Grif said seriously. “The Fed doctor said the bruising around his implant wasn’t from a direct hit, and that there wasn’t anything actually broken but a few ribs, but she’s not taking chances. Someone’s sitting with him all the time.”

Carolina nodded, and there was a little relief in the breath she blew out. “Good.” They fell silent again, until a very audible gurgle came from Grif’s midsection. Carolina’s eyebrow raised, and she couldn’t hid the little smile at his shrug. 

“Well, that’s my cue to get to the mess hall,” he said as he stood. He looked down at her for a second. “You coming?” 

“In a moment,” she said, waving off the hand he offered. Grif managed to suppress his head shake until the door had slid shut behind him. At breakfast, nobody mentioned he took more than his normal oversized portions of the food that wouldn’t make a mess. 

And if that fruit and nut bar and dried meat had managed to make it into that training room, well, nobody mentioned that, either. Especially not Carolina.


	3. Funnel Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the combined forces of Chorus wait for word from Tucker's away team, Grif runs from the angry hordes in Armonia and into a thoughtful Carolina.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during season 13, Episode 4, "Tourist Trap." I will steal every moment I can to make these two be normalish!

Carolina stared out at the alien tower floating not far away from the research station she was guarding, not seeing it. Her thoughts were a million miles and years away, sent wandering by a stray, throwaway statement by one of the Federal soldiers. She’d rather be testing the dome shield, but Church had called for a break, something about fine-tuning the power modulator. And realistically, Charon wasn’t going to counter attack this research station. They had been losing men steadily, and nothing they had found so far would justify the loss of manpower to reclaim it. So, her being here to guard it was really just for show. And to avoid Grey. Nobody is naturally that happy.

In other words, she was bored, and her mind was wandering to places she didn’t like revisiting. Times when she ate funnel cake with her dad, and mom would point out the cherry sauce that was dripping down her chin, and Davey would point and pout until he was given a piece. Times when her world was perfect.

At least she could smile a little now at the memories. For too many years, she couldn’t even let herself dwell on them. After her mom died, and her dad sent David to live with her mother’s sister, and buried himself in his research…

Well, perfect had been just too painful to think about.

Heavy armored footsteps were coming a little too quickly from behind her, and she whirled around, pistol automatically targeting the possible threat. Grif stopped short, hands up. “What the hell are you doing?” he asked loudly. "I mean, I know you've been avoiding me, but seriously."

“I could ask you the same question,” Carolina said, lowering the gun quickly. Grif dropped his hands and came to stand beside her. “I thought you had went back to the Capitol hours ago.”

“I did,” Grif said. “But everybody was waiting for me.” Carolina tilted her head. “Wash was kinda pissed I’d been skipping morning training, and had everyone running laps until I showed up.”

“Did he now?” Carolina said, and Grif could hear the amusement in her voice. She turned back to stare at the alien tower. “And I take it guilt hadn’t compelled you to make it up?”

“I didn’t think he’d have EVERYONE running laps all day for real!” Grif exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. “HE’S the monster here! I don’t know why they’re all ganging up on me!” Carolina gave a smothered snort, her hand coming up to cover her mouth despite the helmet. “Anyway, they dragged me back to the training room, and Wash had me running drills forever.”

“Poor baby.”

“I know, right? I practically had a heart attack!” Grif gestured dramatically. “Between late night sessions with you and early morning training with him, the space pirates aren’t going to have a chance to kill me.”

“You could just tell him you’re working with me at night. It’d probably get you out of morning training,” Carolina suggested. “I’m sure it’s harder than whatever he has you doing.”

“Fuck yes it is,” Grif exclaimed. “All this close range melee stuff is a hell of a lot harder than target practice. And the running.” He looked right at her. “Seriously though, what’s you guys obsession with running?”

Carolina had to roll her eyes, even if Grif couldn’t see her. “Grif, just tell him, and I’ll back you up.”

Grif’s head just tilted. “You’ve met Tucker, right? We tell Wash we’re having private late night hand-to-hand combat training, and every New Republic soldier will ‘know’ we’re having sex by noon. Most of the Feds, probably, too. We'll never hear the end of it.”

“Not likely,” Carolina shrugged. “They wouldn’t dare to spread rumors about me for too long.”

“I don’t know,” Grif said. “I’ve heard some of them are getting sassy with you.”

“No, they get sassy with Church,” Carolina explained. “They’re still scared of me. A little bit.”

“Someone’s still going to try to get proof,” Grif said, a little sullenly. “We’d never get any privacy.”

“You mean follow us and get pictures or something?” Carolina hadn’t considered that. When Grif nodded, she made a disgusted noise, and they fell silent for a few moments.

“Anyway, I finally just told him I was supposed to report back here to see if you guys had found anything else to bring back,” Grif said, sounding for all the world like he was forcing himself to be angry.

“Ah,” Carolina looked at him sideways, and Grif got the impression she was smiling. “So what happens when you go back empty handed?”

“Uhg, I don’t want to think about it,” Grif said. He kicked the dirt. “So, what were you thinking so hard about?”

Carolina blinked, surprised he’d be interested, before she realized he was probably stalling getting back to Wash. “Actually, I was thinking about funnel cake.”

“You’re thinking about funnel cake while staring at the alien tower where Tucker’s team is?” Grif sounded somewhat perplexed. “Shouldn’t you be worried they about them being killed or something?”

“Unless Felix and Locus decide to show themselves, Tucker, Caboose, and Sarge can handle whatever happens,” Carolina said. “It’s just… Some of the Feds were talking about how those temples used to be tourist traps, and one mentioned that their dad took them there when they were a kid, and that there was funnel cakes. It just got me thinking, is all.”

Grif actually nodded. “Yeah, sounds nice.” He paused a beat. “I actually hate funnel cake. And cotton candy. All fair food, really.”

“Why?” Carolina asked, shocked there was any junk food Dexter Grif didn’t like.

“Well, when I was ten, my mom ran off and ‘joined the circus,’” Grif made the quotes in the air with his fingers. “At least, that was what my dad told us. Every couple of months, Dad would drop us off with her for a few hours there. It was cool the first couple of years. I mean, we ate fair food the entire time, and the shows were cool. But then I realized she didn’t actually work there, it was just that she didn’t want us seeing where she lived.” Grif went quiet for a second. “And that’s what Dad could afford to send us to that she could get to, or something like that. So yeah, after that, funnel cake just lost all it’s fun.”

“I’m… sorry,” Carolina said softly. She had forgotten that not everyone lost their parents the same way. “I’ve only had it a few times myself, when I was really young, but I remember it being good.” She took a deep breath. “My mom loved amusement parks, and would take us every time she had leave. She made sure we stopped and enjoyed everything. She loved cherries on her funnel cakes, and powdered sugar.”

“Sounds good,” Grif said noncomittically. “Why’d she stop taking you?” He pulled a cigarette pack out of somewhere, and slid one out, knowing she wouldn’t mind. Not like their helmets wouldn’t filter out any smoke, anyway. He reached for his lighter, but it wasn’t in the hidden spot in his armor. He began nonchalantly patting himself down, hoping it would magically appear.

“She was in the military. She… We got the news when I was eight,” Carolina said. She watched him begin more frantic efforts to find a light, and decided to take pity on him. York’s lighter was always with her, and it still worked. She hesitated for a second before flipping the lid, holding the little flame in front of his visor. She had decided a while ago York would have liked Grif and the rest of the Reds and Blues. She was sure he wouldn’t mind.

“Damn, that’s rough,” Grif said, as he popped the seal on his helmet and lifted it so it rested on his nose. “Thanks.” He lit the cigarette, and sighed as he exhaled. “Dad didn’t keep taking you?”

“…No,” Carolina finally replied. “Dad didn’t handle Mom’s death really well. I was kind of on my own a lot after that.”

“I know the feeling,” Grif said, looking ridiculous blowing another cloud of smoke into the air with his chin and mouth showing under the edge of the helmet.

“My dad had to work three jobs after mom left to keep the house and Kai’s dance lessons and everything, so I was in charge of me and her for the most part.” He tried to glance over at her, caught his cheek on the edge of the seal, and ripped the stupid thing off the rest of the way as he cursed. “I mean, Dad did what he could so we didn’t want for anything, but…”

“…Yeah,” Carolina finished. “I never wanted for anything, either.” Except her family. She left it unspoken, but looking back at Grif, she thought, maybe, he actually understood.

He suddenly shook his head a little, and turned back to stare at the alien tower. “So, yeah-” An alert came from his helmet, an incoming message from Wash. “Oh, shit.” He looked around, before snuffing out the half-finished cigarette on his armor and shoving it in the place his lighter should be. “Gotta run.” He grabbed his helmet and shoved it on his head. “See ya later.”

“Later,” she managed to get out as he got some distance and used a teleportation grenade to disappear back to Armonia. It was nice to have a nice, normal conversation with someone every now and then, she thought. Even if it was kind of sad. At that precise moment, the tower began to glow…


	4. Carolina's Appartment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carolina gets caught in Grif's headlights. This somehow ends up with him caught in her apartment, eating ramen and borrowing a strange man's clothes. Why is she working so hard to get him to stay?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after 'Thin Fed Line,' but before 'Counseling.' 
> 
> If it feels like there's something missing, it's because there should be at least one more chapter before this, but I had it done, and it's Carolina Appreciation Week on Tumblr, so I decided to throw this up. Enjoy.

Dexter Grif was not a happy man.

Oh, sure, he probably could be if he really tried. Things weren’t the worst they could be. Sure, Felix had a key that could destroy every human on the planet, but Doyle was tucked nice and safe inside Armonia. While they had lost a lot of people at the Crash Site Alpha attack, everyone that mattered to him had made it back. Hell, they had even somehow found Doc. Who was also O’Malley. Who was fucking scary.

And who was fucking Donut. And that was half his problem.

Not that he wanted to fuck Donut. Far from it. And he really didn’t want to fuck Doc. But as soon as Dr. Grey had released the crazy bastard sixish hours ago, the two of them had locked themselves in Donut’s apartment. Which he wouldn’t have given a damn about if his apartment didn’t share a wall with Donut’s. And if they weren’t apparently both screamers. And had inhuman endurance. And no need for sleep or food. And he was now doing that stupid sentence list thing Sarge did. Damnit.

Speaking of which, he had tried to get Sarge to make them stop, but he had been busy, working on some sort of secret project with Dr. Grey, which was code for them making googgly eyes at each other, apparently over a screaming victim, and they couldn’t be disturbed. And since the way she said things sometimes reminded him of Kai, what that suggested was more than a little disturbing.

Tucker was in Kimball’s office. Again. The dude really needed to quit chasing that tail. She had a huge head start. Seriously.

Caboose was useless for something like this. He’d probably make it horribly, embarrassingly worse.

Even Simmons was acting weird. Grif had been crashing at his pad, bitching about the Franks when the nerd got a mysterious call. Then he dropped off the face of the planet for over an hour, and when he got back, he was moody as shit. And then they got into an actual, real fight, and Simmons had kicked him out.

So now he was driving around Armonia in the middle of the night, looking for a place to sleep. Or eat. Or both. Whatever. So when he turned a corner and found Carolina in his headlights, he was just too pissed off to be surprised. It wasn’t until he realized she wasn’t getting out of the way fast enough that he started reacting. He slammed on the breaks and jerked the wheel to the left. He wasn’t going fast enough to send himself in spin, but he did end up stopping right in front of her, skidmarks and all.

“Hey, watsh where you’re goin!” she shouted, pounding her helmet into his hood.

“Me!? You’re the one standing in the middle of the street! You watch where you’re going!” he shouted back.

“I m not standin in the street!”

Grif actually got out of the jeep and pointed at the lines painted down the middle of the road. “This is the middle of the street. You were standing on it, therefore, you,” he yelled, pointing at her chest, “were standing in the middle of the street!”

“No, I was standin right here!” still shouting, she pointed at a spot two feet from the center line, which was technically the right spot.

“That’s still standing in the street!” he yelled, and she took a tiny step back, almost as if she had staggered. It was at that moment that Grif realized there was something wrong with this. He could think of four, maybe five, of his comrades where this whole situation would not be a surprise, but Carolina wasn’t one of them. And she wasn’t wearing her helmet, which was odd, because she rarely went without in public. And the last time she had, which he tried really hard to not think about, she had been a little dopey from pain meds or something. Oh, well, shit. 

A little blue figure appeared next to Carolina’s head. “What the fuck is going on out here?” Church demanded. “Grif, what did you do now?”

“Hey, it wasn’t me,” the big man said, holding up his hands. “She’s the one standing in the middle of the street, trying to get run over!”

“That’s redic-”Church started. He looked over at Carolina, although his quick scan had told him enough. Then pointedly at the little bag wrapped around a small bottle in her hand. “Where the hell did you find that?”

“Doyle’s people foun’ some in Locus’ old quarters when they see-erched it,” she said.

“Uh-uh,” Church nodded, then blinked over really close to Grif’s head. “Mind if I talk to you?” the AI said as quietly as he could

Grif wasn’t stupid, and he had dealt with enough drunk chicks, mostly his sister, to recognize the signs. Still, he let Church lead him a few feet away. “How drunk is she?” he asked quietly, looking back to where she now stood, both hands braced on the jeep’s hood, while still holding the helmet and bottle.

“Just barely over the limt,” Church admitted.

“Really? She seems drunker than that.”

“Well, she doesn’t drink very often, especially in the last few months,” Church said. “And she’s had a bad day.” Which was a nice way of saying she was still sore from being dropped off a cliff.

“We all have,” Grif groused. He watched her turn so now she had both her hands and her butt on his hood. “You guys going to be all right?”

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about,” Church said. “I’m running the healing unit and working on alternative plans while we’ve got a quiet minute, so… You mind giving us a ride home before she bangs me against a wall or something?”

“Won’t the healing thingy take care of the drunk?” Grif asked. He really didn’t want to try to get a drunk Carolina in his jeep, especially since she seemed pissed off about him not running her over. Yup, that was it. Not avoiding being with her out of armor for any reason at all.

“Well, if I focus it on that, then her other injuries won’t get healed as fast. And besides, she’ll be able to sleep this off,” Church said reasonably.

“What about Wash? He usually handles her when she’s pissed,” Grif asked hopefully.

“Yeah, I already tried calling him, he’s not picking up,” Church said. “And anyway, you’re right here.”

“Fine,” Grif said, and the two made their way over to the tipsy ex-freelancer. “Hey, get in,” he said testily. “What the fuck is wrong with everyone tonight?” he muttered under his breath, walking around the front of the jeep to his own door.

“I’m nawt drunk!” Carolina declared to Church, nimbly hopping into the seat next to Grif. “Drunk people can’t do thiss.”

“Sure, C, whatever you say,” Church replied. He looked at Grif over her head, and they had an understanding. “Listen, I’m going to get back to running numbers. Grif will drive us home.”

“Oh-kay,” Carolina said, taking a swig from the bottle. “To home Dexxy!” she said, and giggled.

Grif gripped the steering wheel to keep himself from attempting something he’d regret. “Don’t call me that!” He commanded, and hoped she never did in front of the others.

 

********

 

He was still hungry, but now he was hungry in the blue ‘barracks’ as opposed to his own room. Which meant two floors up from where the reds had picked their apartments, and the floor above Tucker, Caboose, and Wash. He didn’t think anyone but maybe Wash had been in Carolina’s apartment. “Tucker’s going to be so jealous,” Grif said, as he helped Carolina through the door.

“Noooo, he’s not, becawse you’re not tell-ling him,” Carolina said, somewhere between a slur and a sing-song. She took a sip of the apparently never empty beer. “I can kill you vary easily.”

Grif led her over to the stupidly plump couch and pushed her into it. “Considering you probably aren’t going to remember this, I’ll take my chances.” She dropped her helmet on the floor, and it rolled into the middle of her living room. It was the only thing anywhere that was out of place, except Grif. He let out a low whistle as he looked around.

These apartments they were all in? Each one used to be somebody’s home. As the population had dwindled, and those with families had got on ships and got off-planet during the first waves of fighting, the Feds had begun drafting the remaining able-bodied and consolidating their living arrangements. Entire apartment buildings stood empty with fully furnished residences. The ones the reds picked were fairly modest, middle class types. Hell, Tucker’s and Caboose’s weren’t fancy, either. This… was overkill, and Grif almost felt dirty being there. And not the perverted dirty. Like, he actually felt filthy and outclassed.

Two floors, open air concept, lots of white and gray. Big windows that had somehow survived the fighting. Overstuffed and oversized chairs and couches in the public areas, glass and stainless steel in the dining room and kitchen.

And damn, he wanted her kitchen. And her gloriously huge refrigerator, and look at all that shelf space. Oh, the snacks he could make in that microwave. And yet, it was immaculate, like she never used it.

He was learning more about her glancing around her choice in apartments than he had from talking to her all these years. Not that they had talked much, but still…

“Hey, where you going?” Carolina asked as he walking into the kitchen. He popped his helmet and gloves off and began rummaging through her cupboards.

“You have any ramen noodles?” he called over his shoulder.

“Why, you hungry?” she asked, as he pulled out a saucepan and began filling it with water.

“Well, yeah, but the ramen’s for you. It’ll help you feel sober,” he said. “Something about water and starch and blah blah blah.”

“Oh.” she thought for a minute. “Um, try the third shelf in the next door.”

Nobody had a lot of dry goods, except apparently Carolina. “Damn, how high do you rate, anyway?” he asked as he grabbed three packs out. Beef, chicken and pork. Could be worse. The water had started to boil, so he began ripping open the packs and dumping them in.

“I worked for those. The pirates had a ton, I figured they wouldn’t miss them,” she said, starting to get up. “Payment for all the trouble they gave me- us. Me and Church,” she explained. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she slowly walked to the counter and carefully sat on one of the stools to watch him, beer still in hand.

“Back when you left us at the canyon?”

“Yeah.”

“How did you carry it all over the planet?”

Carolina managed to glare at him. “Really?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, you said you guys moved around a lot,” Grif shrugged.

“We had a couple of safe spots we stored stuff,” she explained, taking off her gloves and setting them on the counter. The noodles were done, and Grif slid her a bowl, and started eating the rest out of the saucepan. She glared at the pan, then met his eyes, reminding Grif she had awesome eyes. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” he mumbled around a mouthful. He held up finger, chewed for a second, swallowed what was in his mouth, then sucked the eight or so inches still hanging down his chin. “Less dishes,” he explained. “You know, since I’m going to have to do them.” At the thought, he frowned. How did he get roped into this again?

“I have a dishwasher,” she said, pointing to it. She twirled her fork, managing to get just a few strands completely wrapped up and in her mouth without a drip.

“Cool. Less for me to load then,” he said.

“Get over here and sit down,” she complained, pointing to the stool next to her. “I shouldn’t be looking up at you.”

“Whatever,” he groused. “You’re always looking up at me.” He walked around, looking at the row of stools, before picking one that put another between him and her. He had his reasons. Namely, the incident right before the comm tower fight that she claimed she doesn’t remember. And the last time she was wasted, which didn’t count, apparently. When he went to sit down, though, she raised her eyebrow and shook her head.

“I said right here,” she pointed to the stool next to her. Slowly, he got off the one he was on and sat next to her, staring straight ahead. She sighed, grabbed the bottom of his stool, and turned him so that he was facing her a little, banging his knee against hers. “Oops, sorry, Dexxy,” she said, with a smile that said she wasn’t, and guessing from her breath, a blood-alcohol level that would make tonight very blurry for her tomorrow.

“Please stop calling me that,” he almost whined, as she rubbed the spot on his knee where they had bumped. “And eat your noodles.” _And please pass out so I can put you back on the couch and leave_ , he thought a little desperately. He shoveled another overfull forkful in his mouth, slurped up the hanging noodles, and lifted the saucepan and drank some of the broth.

“What, Dexxy? I think it’s cute,” Carolina said, even as she obediently took another bite. She watched him hard as he managed to suck in the hanging noodles.

“How do you do that?” she asked, a curious tilt to her head. “Wash will never tell me how to do it. Just says ‘you just need to practice.’”

“Wash eats ramen? Here? With you?” The entire concept was oddly odd to him, and Grif had to shake his head in disbelief.

“Ramen, spaghetti, fet-a-chin-y alfraido,” Carolina shrugged. “He likes pasta. Has since he was little kid.”

“That lucky son of a bitch,” Grif said, a little annoyed.

“Did you just call my mom a bitch?” Now she sounded annoyed.

“No, Carry, I didn’t.” he said, stressing the name. “I called Wash a son of a bitch.”

“That implies his mom is a bitch.”

“Yeah, and also a dog.” Grif said condescendingly.

“Did you just call my mom a dog?” Carolina asked, her voice dropping dangerously low.

“Woohwoohwooh! Where the hell did you get that?” He said, trying to jump back. Except he forgot she had a hand on his kneepad, so all he did was stand up and knock over the stool and knock the breath out of himself hitting his stomach on the edge of the counter when she hooked the armor there. He barely managed to grab the counter edge with one hand to keep from falling over. He took a step back with his free foot, the other hand over his stomach where he had hit himself, slightly doubled over. He glared at her, but she was already talking.

“Well,” she said slowly and with as much condescension as Grif had used a second ago, “if he’s my brother, than you had to have just insulted my mother, duh.”

“Church is really starting to rub off on you,” Grif said. “How is that possible, anyway? I thought you two met in Project Freelancer.”

“Oh, that. We just told everyone that because all the problems the twins were having. And we didn’t want anyone treating him any diff… differently-” she smiled triumphantly “- if they knew we were related.”

Grif took a second to process what she told him. Yup, it had nothing to do with having never seen her smile before. “Then why didn’t you guys tell us? We already knew he’s a dick, so there’s no chance we’d treat him any different. And you were more than scary enough on your own.”

“You knew he wet the bed, but never knew we were brother and sister?” she asked, letting his leg go and kicking the knocked over stool away.

“Nope. I guess at the time Simmons was looking at the files, we really never had a reason to look at his family history,” Grif said, letting out a relieved sigh when she let go. And then he gulped as she stood up and leaned close.

“Am I scary now, Dexxy?” she asked as he took a step back, the beer heavy on her breath. “ Are you afraid of me now?”

Grif took another step back as she grabbed the counter with the nearest hand and reached around him with the left. “Um, yes, wait, no! C! Is the answer c? Is there a right answer?” he rambled, his voice getting higher with each word, and she laughed that low, throaty laugh she had. Her face, even leaning down a little, was still way too close to his, and he wanted no part of it while she was drunk. Or ever. Yup, never. That’s right.

He heard something scrape, and then the next stool in line hit the back of his thighs. He had no choice but to take a step toward her as she pulled the other stool over to replace the one he had knocked down.

When they were where she wanted it, which left them pressed together, and him on his toes trying to get distance, she stopped, and pushed him with down onto it with her right hand. “Eat the damn noodles,” she said in what he assumed was her trying to imitate him. He chuckled nervously, but she turned back to her own bowl, and they finished the noodles in silence. It gave him time to readjust his strategy. Which included running a lot of movie stats through his brain to readjust the fit of his codpiece.

Church owed him big time for this. Scratch that. Church was never hearing about this. He’d find someone to kill him, probably Wash.

“So…” Her voice seemed loud as he was loading the dishwasher. “What’re’u doing up so late? I thought you slept. All the time.”

“Donut and Doc are really glad to see each other,” Grif said dryly. “I’m surprised you can’t hear it from here.”

“The floor is soundproofed,” she said, getting up. “Sounds like it’s a good thing.”

“You have no clue how lucky you are.” He stood up, and noticed she was heading for the spiral stairs. “Where are you going?”

“To bed,” she yawned, stretching her arms above her head, and then stumbling slightly. “We’ve got to figure out what to do in the morning, and I can’t do that if I’m too tired to move.”

Grif felt himself smirk slightly. She’d be lucky if she wanted to move tomorrow to anywhere other than the bathroom. “Wait.” He hurried over. “I’ll, uh, I’ll follow you up.”

“Good idea,” she surprised him by say. And then she made a decent attempt at short circuiting his brain. “I may need help getting out of this armor.”

Someone was going to pay for him dealing with this shit. He didn’t know who, or when, but somebody was paying.

He stayed two steps behind her, but she managed to stay steady all the way to the top, and even over to the armor rack she had set up on the far side of the platform, between the dresser and the closet. “Okay, great, well, I’m going now,” Grif said when they reached the top, trying and failing to keep the nerves out of his voice.

“Oh, come on Dexxy, do my back,” she said in a little girl voice. It didn’t suit her.

“Fine, Carry, but after that, I’m outta here,” he snapped. And then tried to imagine his parents making out to keep himself focused on quickly helping her. Nope, he’d never had quality alone time to thinking about doing this, ever.

“Well, why don’t you stay here tonight?” Carolina said as the last piece of aqua metal was carefully placed in the armor rack beside the bed.

“What, on the couch? I can do that,” Grif said thoughtfully. Anything was better than going home and finding out if the two lovebirds had finally passed out.

“Actually, I meant up here,” she said.

Grif attempted to look confused as he looked over the upper level. Not much to be confused about. It was apparently only a bathroom and the bedroom up here.“I don’t see anything big enough for me to sleep on,” he said, trying for innocent.

She proceeded to destroy that. “In my bed.” Yeah, he was ignoring the California king-sized elephant in the room. “With me.”

“Not happening,” he said, stepping back, and then turning and heading back for the stairs. Her hand was on his shoulder before he got three steps, and he sighed. “You’re drunk, and I have a little bit of intergrety, or whatever it’s called,” he said over his shoulder.

“Integrity,” she said very precisely and clearly. “And I’m not drunk. I told Church that when I got in the car.”

He remembered how easily she got in. “Your breath says otherwise.”

He felt her arm bend and lay down his back. “Really?” she breathed over his shoulder, warm against his ear, even if she wasn’t touching him. He inhaled against his will, and sure enough, the smell was more three flavor ramen than alcohol.

“You’re stumbling,” he said, and his noted his brain was starting to, too.

“I’m faking,” she said. “And it worked.”

“But Church said you were-” Church had said barely over the limit. “Fuck.” This made no sense at all. Looking over the lush apartment she was obviously used to, it made no sense.

“What’s the problem, Dexxy?” She asked softly, pulling him back to her, her breath playing in his hair.

“Please don’t call me that,” he whined, closing his eyes. “And you know what’s wrong with this.”

“Enlighten me,” she said, her free hand now resting on his hip. He pinched himself on the hand, felt the pain. Holy shit, it wasn’t some fucked up dream conjured by watching too much porn. This was happening.

A million thoughts, more than he tried having at a time, ran through his head. That Tucker was going to be sooooo jealous, and totally high five him for this. That this would show Simmons, fuck that, the world, that he could get with any woman he wanted. That she was faking now, and was really that drunk, and would really kill him in the morning, if she managed to wake up before him, which, given how late it was, and how little sleep he had actually had today, was about a fifty-fifty chance. That Wash would kill him dead if this was real, because damnit, that’s just what brothers did to friends that fucked their sisters. Which is really what he should of done with Tucker back in that pyramid. Which, since he knew his sister and Tucker, was a total testament to just how much things have changed in the last few years, because he had been more willing to let Tucker fuck Kai than have Sarge kill her maybe.

And she was chuckling in his ear now, and he was really hoping she was still in her underarmor, because now she was fully pressed against all his back, at least as much as his armor would allow, and her arms were wrapped around his waist and his chest. And he did have some integrity, and if there was even a chance she was drunk, he’d actually hate himself for taking advantage of her. Well, hate was a strong word, but guilty wasn’t. She was a friend. You don’t take advantage of your drunk friends. At least, not like this. Now, to just get everything back under control. _Bats in the ceiling. Oiled up Donut in hot pants! SARGE AND DOC GREY HAVING SEX!_

He sighed again, and took her hands in his, pulling them away from him so he could turn around. “Because I don’t know what this is, but you’re going to regret it in the morning again.”

“I didn’t regret it last time,” she said. “You were just so weird afterward, and I was… Anyway, you got back to normal after I conveniently forgot. Again.”

Grif actually felt mad. “I’m not some cheap booty call.” Words he immediately regretted, because he knew last two times weren’t  booty calls, just a more-than-a-little kiss and some light petting. Anyway, it wasn’t sex. Not even close. And besides, there were men that would let her rip off their left arms to be her booty call, and fuck integrity.

Oh, and the fact that she actually looked hurt. “God fucking damnit. I didn't mean it like that.”

“I’m sorry, Grif. Please don’t go,” she said softly, avoiding his eyes. “I just… I… I don’t want to be alone.” She stepped back and tried to turn away. And now that she was finally away from him, he found he couldn’t let go of her.

“Why?” he asked. And wondered how he had gotten this mixed up in emotional shit. And her. “I mean, isn’t Church always with you?”

“Church is great,” she said, “but he is still just an AI. And he needs to rest, figure things out. He can’t be worrying about me all the time.”  
He must have looked as confused as he felt, because she adjusted her hands so he suddenly found his fingers intertwined with hers. She brought them up between them, her eye level. “He can’t touch me.” She moved one hand so she could rub her face on his fingers. “I know I can be… distant, but even now and then, I just need contact.”

“You mean, like a hug?” Grif asked, surprised. “I mean, I can give you a hug, if that’s what you need.”

“Well, I really do want you to stay up here,” she said, still avoiding eye contact. He had to wonder if the faking drunk thing was tricking him to get him to stay or her version of liquid courage. Maybe both? God, that seemed complicated. “I had a nightmare,” she explained.

Fake liquid courage it was. “Oh. Um… I guess, if you don’t mind the underarmor, then yeah, okay,” he said.

“Actually, there’s still some men’s clothes in the dresser that may fit you. Like, pajamas and tee shirts and stuff.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry, I found pajamas for myself. I’m not trying to get into your pants.”

“Damnit.”

“Men.” She looked at him and rolled her eyes. “You need help?”

Grif was pretty sure it wasn’t men in general, just him that was this fucked up. “Well, it wouldn’t hurt.” He was such a fucking liar, because pain was definitely in his future. But it was late, and two sets of hands got his armor off quicker. She ducked into the bathroom to change, giving him a chance to find something in the dresser. The pajama pants were easy, the previous owner was actually close to his size, but the shirt was another matter.

Yes, he was fat. He held no illusions on that. But in the last couple of years, after trying to fight with the Grifshot, he had actually put in some time in the gym. Not actually when anyone would think so, he’d sneak off in the middle of the night to get in an hour, then go back to bed. He had wanted to be able to use the weapon the way it should be, like a fucking video game hero. That’s why he cried when they took it. All that sleep, lost to actually doing something.

Unfortunately, they hadn’t taken it before the midnight workout thing had became a habit. Never enough to give him any definition, but he was bigger. So now shirts that used to hang normal on him were tight. Not uncomfortably, but enough that you could make out everything. And the previous owner did actually seem to wear his old size.

He had scars all over his torso, evidence that he had been one of Sarge’s most successful experiments, and that him and Simmons were more compatible than any two men should ever be. Neither were things he was especially proud of, but worse, the scars had healed thick and very visible, even through every shirt here. They were embarrassing. He was really just hoping she wouldn’t see them, or at least, not say anything.

He saw the light from the bathroom turn off in the mirror in front of him, and quickly pulled on a plain black tee. He turned around as she turned off the light. He could still see her in the light from the windows, a dark tank and baggy shorts replacing her underarmor. He couldn’t see anything more, though, and released breath he didn’t know he was holding. If he couldn’t see anything, neither could she.

They both padded over to the bed, him reaching it first and crawling in on his side. He laid down on his back, stiff as a board. “So, uh, how are we going to do this? Hold hands?” he asked, his voice tight with nerves.

She crawled under the covers, and scooted over to the middle of the bed. “Well, it’ll probably work better if you come over here,” she said quietly. Shyly, even. “You can spoon me?”

Grif took a quick breath and rolled over. “Okay, I guess,” he said, reaching around her waist and pulling her over to him. She made a surprised noise, definitely not a squeak. It took a few minutes, and even a little bit of laughter, but they finally managed to get comfortable. Carolina wiggled once more back into him, her head pillowed on his bicep, his other arm wrapped all the way around her midriff. He had to admit, it felt nice. Grif tried to ignore the loose hair tickling his nose, among other things. And started letting the memory of Simmons droning on about computer stuff put both of his brains to sleep.

“G’night, Carry,” he mumbled, absently nuzzling the top of her head.

“Good night, Dex,” she murmured back. “And don’t call me Carry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grif would be an awesome Teddy Bear if he bathed just a little more often. 
> 
> The beer was found in Locus' quarters, but it's imported expensive stuff. You know, like Felix drinks. ~_^


	5. Waking Up Take One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! Sorry this took so long, I promise I didn't forget it. Real Life has been kicking my butt, and unfortunately, this got pushed to the side. So I present two short chapters. Enjoy!

“WHAT THE FUCKING HELL IS THIS!” 

Not even the sound of furious AI coming from the foot of the bed could make Grif move more than open his eyes. He looked at the life-sized white hologram of Church. “Go away,” he groaned, closing his eyes and turning his head so his mouth was touching Carolina’s forehead. He didn’t care there was plenty of light coming in the windows. He had been up late, damnit, and he didn’t fucking care what an asshole computer program thought about it. 

“What he said,” Carolina murmured from his shoulder, not even bothering to open her eyes. “I have a headache.”

At some point during the night, the two had switched positions, so that Grif was on his back, propped up a little by the mounds of pillows on the bed. He was holding her lightly against his side, hand resting on the side of her waist. Her head was resting on his shoulder, her leg was thrown over his, and her hand was resting on his solar plexus. 

“I ASKED YOU TO TAKE CARE OF HER, NOT HAVE SEX WITH HER!” Church shouted. 

“Yeah, about that. You owe me gas money,” Grif said, lifting his head. “This was a little more work than I thought it would be.” Carolina turned her face to bury it in his shoulder, and he thought he could feel her smile. “For one thing, I had to do dishes. For another, you only said to drive her home, not get her to her apartment, and definitely not helping her get her armor off.”

“She’s got a dishwasher,” Church said. “And how, in the world, do you think that’s going to make up for the fact that you slept with her?”

“Church, stop,” Carolina finally looked at him, squinting against the light. “I asked him to stay. And we didn’t have sex. Not that it’s any of your business.” 

“Yeah. Do you think we’d be dressed if we had sex? Well, she might be, but at that point, I say why bother?” Grif said through a yawn, and Carolina turned her head and smiled at him, and he forgot to think for a second.

“Oh, no, we’d both be naked,” Carolina said, and Grif let his head fall back to the pillows, so he could try to concentrate on not responding to the picture that popped into his head. 

Church sputtered and flickered for a second. “I swear, I’m going to-” 

“Do what? You’re a hologram. The only thing you can do is tell somebody, so they can beat me up,” Grif bluffed, knowing exactly who he was going to tell, “and then everyone will know.” 

There was more sputtering while Church tried to figure out what to do with that. “We’re not done with this!” he finally threatened. “I will find a way to make you pay.”

“Church, what part of ‘I asked him to stay’ or ‘we didn’t have sex’ didn’t you get?” Carolina asked, annoyed. “And it was the best night of sleep I’ve got in months. And could you please. Quit. Yelling.”

“Fine. But we’re talking about this later. After our meeting with Kimball and Doyle,” Church said sullenly. 

“Oh, when is that?” Carolina groaned. 

“In an hour.”

“Call them and let them know I need to move it back to later. I can’t put up with them arguing feeling like this.”

“Right,” Church said, sparing one last glare at Grif before blinking out of sight. 

Carolina sighed and propped herself up so she was stretched across Grif’s chest, her face hovering over his.

“Mind staying for a couple more hours? I’m still sleepy,” she asked.

Grif kept his eyes closed, but he smiled. “I’m already asleep,” he murmured. “This is one big dream.” And then his eyes flew open as her lips brushed his. “You’re trying to get me killed, aren’t you?” 

She chuckled, kissed him again, and then settled back to rest her head on his chest. “If I was, there are easier ways than this,“ she murmured. He closed his eyes, and relaxed.

He was just about asleep when he realized her hand was resting on his scars, and had been the entire time. Too far gone to think about it anymore, he passed back into a very nice dream.


	6. Waking Up, Take Two

“So, why were you driving around in the middle of the night?” Carolina asked over oatmeal with maple bacon chunks and black coffee. Stolen dried goods for the win. They were back at the counter, in armor, eating brunch. Or breakfast, depending on which one you asked. They had already debated that to death.

“I told you, Donut and Doc were having loud sex next door,” Grif said, trying to remember to talk between bites instead of through them with limited success. 

“I would expect you to be crashing at Simmons’,” she said. 

“Yeah, tried that, but he got all moody and kicked me out,” Grif explained. “It was so weird. He was yelling at me and everything.”

“You guys are always arguing. What’s so weird about that?” Carolina asked.

“Arguing, yeah. This was an actual fight,” Grif was still confused about it. “I don’t know what that call was, but it really stressed him out.”

“What call?”

“I don’t know. He got a call, then got all super secret mysterious, said he had to go out, and was gone for, like, an hour and a half. I was bored out of my mind,” Grif said. 

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

The door chime went off, almost immediately followed by “Carolina! You better be awake, I’m coming in!” They looked at each other, shocked, although they probably shouldn’t have been. Jerking her head toward the kitchen, she pushed his bowl of oatmeal to the other side of the counter. 

“Hide!” she hissed, handing him his helmet. Grif nodded, scrambling to duck down by the dishwasher, remembering at the last second to grab his bowl down with him. He listened to her greet the newcomer, and heard the new footsteps headed his way, and sent up a prayer to whatever powers that be that Wash did not come into the kitchen proper. 

“So, why are you here so early?” Carolina asked. He could hear her fiddling with the coffee maker they had moved onto the counter so they could refill easily, and remembered his own cup, still sitting there, steaming. He bit down on his lip hard to keep from cursing out loud. 

“Just checking up on you. Epsilon left a message for me last night, something about you being drunk,” he said, and there was a thunk that sounded like metal on glass, probably his helmet being put on the counter. “Expecting company?” he asked, and Grif knew he was looking at the mug. 

“I was expecting you earlier, actually,” Carolina said, and there was an audible tink as the pot touched the mug. “Church told me he had called you before he got Grif to give me a ride home.”

“Is that so? Did he also tell you he called me this morning to deal with some kind of pest problem in your apartment?” he asked archly.

“To tell you the truth, I remember him yelling, I remember telling him to shut up and go away, but not much more than that,” Carolina said. “I had a killer headache.”

“Happens when you drink,” Wash said, a little too lightly. “You sure you didn’t throw up in here? Something stinks.” 

Grif almost came off the floor to tell him he didn’t stink, he had been in the shower when Doc and Donut got home, but taking the insult was less painful than picking a fight with Wash. It’s not like it’s the first time someone had said he stunk, after all.

“Wow, you’re in rare form this morning,” Carolina sounded annoyed. “Get less sleep than normal?”

There was a shifting noise from one of the bar stools, and the silence lasted a two count too long. “Just had a problem with one of the weapons supply databases, and it took a while to get it handled,” Wash said. “And I may said things I shouldn’t have to Simmons because of it,” he mumbled, “and I might have been feeling a little guilty about that.”

Grif wanted to pop up and ask him more. As it was, he had to hold the bottom lip of the counter to keep himself in place. He thought about his fight with Simmons, and wanted to bounce with anticipation.

“ And that gives you the right to tell me my house stinks?” Carolina asked.

“You’re right,” Wash acknowledged. “But I was worried, and then I got the message from Epsilon, and I really don’t want to deal with this when we’ve got the fate of Chorus to discuss.”

“What ‘this?’” Carolina demanded. “There is no ‘this’ to deal with. Whatever Church said, there’s no reason for you to deal with anything.”  
Grif heard Wash sigh, and he didn’t have to stretch his imagination to envision Wash’s epic double eye-rub-with-the-heels-of-his-hands-to-sliding-double-facepalm. The man should get that move trademarked, it was a thing of beauty. “Cut the crap, Carolina,” the blond said. “Is Grif still here or not?”

“It’s none of your damn business,” Carolina snapped, and suddenly there were two sliding stools. 

“That’s a yes,” Wash said as he stomped around the end of the counter. “I heard you guys spent the night together.” Grif started breathing hard, and slowly slid back. He heard Carolina’s glove connect with armor, and almost spilled his oatmeal. 

“Whether he stayed last night isn’t your concern,” Carolina said. 

“You were drunk,” Wash said, and Grif managed to slip around the other end.

“No, I wasn’t,” Carolina said. 

“Then why did you need a ride home?” Wash asked in a voice he usually reserved for unruly trainees and Tucker being a pain in the ass. “Or have a headache this morning?” 

“I had a beer, and Church blew it all out of proportion,” Carolina said. 

“And he called Grif instead of anyone else because…” Wash said, and Grif could hear his eyebrow hit his hairline. 

“Because we’ve been training together when I’ve been in the city limits at night,” Carolina said. “Which you would have known if you had bothered to even say hi every now and then.” 

“Bullshit,” Wash said. Grif almost felt bad about them fighting over him, but fuck it, Carolina could take care of herself. And since they had stopped at the other end of the counter, he might have a chance to make it to the door. And if he could make it to the door, he might have a chance to survive the next five minutes.

“Not bullshit,” Carolina said. “The only time I’ve talked to you in the last two weeks was were mission related.”

“Goddamnit Wash, I ask you to do one thing,” Epsilon’s voice is annoyed, strained, and very suddenly there. “Why is he still here? Even better, why is he still breathing?” Grif looked up, and sure enough, there was a little blue asshole staring down at him from the countertop. He sighed, put his hand next to Church, and pulled himself off the ground, oatmeal and all. 

“How about because I want him to be?” Carolina asked exasperatedly. “How about because if Wash had actually tried to make a move on him, I’d have stopped him, and we really don’t have the time to be fighting each other over something that never even happened?” Wash’s mouth opened, and Carolina turned the glare she had been giving Church back on him. “Don’t even start again. We didn’t have sex, and quite frankly, it wouldn’t be any of either of your damn businesses if we had.” Grif opened his mouth to contribute, and slammed it shut when she sent half that glare at him. “Hell, I could have a threesome with Doyle and Kimball to defuse the tension between them, and it still wouldn’t be anybody else’s business. I have the right to choose whomever I want as a lover, as long as they’re willing.” 

What was it Sarge had said during the assault yesterday? _‘If it’s epic enough, life finds a way.’_ Apparently, this was some kind of universe shattering moment, as both Church’s and Wash’s heads managed to snap in slow motion to him. Grif just tried to nonchalantly shrug. “ I thought she was drunk, and then I knew she was fe-” Carolina’s glare was now fully on him- “er, um, yeah, and I wasn’t going get any sleep in my room, so yeah, she offered me the other side of the bed.” Okay, so nobody in the room bought that transition, but there seemed to be a unsaid agreement to let it go. 

“Epsilon said you were making out in here,” Wash said frankly.

“They were!” Church exclaimed as Carolina rolled he eyes and Grif waved both hands in front of him, palms out. “It was so bad I had to go for a walk!”

“Dude, you’re a hologram,” Grif stated. “Where do you walk?” 

“Well, um, I had to troubleshoot a virus that got lodged in the medical files,” Church lied badly. Wash’s eyebrows met his hairline, Carolina’s eyebrows met in the middle of her eyes, and Grif’s head tilted. “What, I can’t handle a little virus for the med bay?” 

“Just seems a little… Out of character for you,” Wash said slowly.

“Oh, what would you know about me?” Church turned on him as Wash narrowed his eyes at the AI.

“Do you really want to go there?” Wash asked menacingly. “Grif, since you missed training this morning,” his voice suddenly brightened as he pointed at Grif, who had been moving toward the door, “you’ll have ten extra laps tomorrow.” 

“What?” Grif squaked. Carolina just shook her head. 

“I’ll tack them on to his training with me,” she said, motioning behind her behind for Grif to keep moving. He took advantage of the distraction, cringing only after the doors had slid shut on the two of them arguing about his training schedule. 

Fucking great.


End file.
